


Tell Me, Speaker

by PurpleArrowzandLeather



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Cayde-6 Being Cayde-6 (Destiny), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Iconic Speaker line, Mentioned Zavala and Ikora, i forgot the tags, my version of him is probably a bit younger, what really happened to the Speaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleArrowzandLeather/pseuds/PurpleArrowzandLeather
Summary: The Last City is besieged by the Red Legion, falling into its darkest hour since the Collapse. No one would have figured the man to save them all would be the person who could talk all day and tell you absolutely nothing. The skill buys precious time.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	Tell Me, Speaker

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing.  
> Hi, everybody. This is a bit new to me to write from the perspective of a pretty much overlooked character, but I thought it would be kind of fun. I feel like the Speaker is a huge troll under that mask.

No one knows his name. 

It’s something he gave up when he became the Speaker. An identity for an identity. It’s been so long since he’s gone by it, he barely remembers what it’s like to be known. 

He doesn’t think anyone in the Tower remembers his name. 

The Guardian he was.... His name was Icarus. His friends called him Ike. 

The Speaker never realizes how much he hungers to be Icarus again until he’s dwelling and it’s too late. He didn’t realize back then he’d be giving up so much to become a herald for the Traveler. It didn’t used to concern him, but then again... that was a few hundred years ago. 

He was paging through a new script, brought in by the rising Light in the Tower. This Guardian was something of a mystery to everyone in the beginning, a young one by all standards. And yet, there was something about him that was distinctly wise. 

He reminded the Speaker of himself. At first. 

The difference was that the Guardian despised being known. He hated walking through the Tower without his hood. It seemed as if he hated being around people at all. 

The Speaker doesn’t want to give up his position. The Traveler is why all of them exist to begin with, and it’s an honor to speak for it, but.... He would give almost anything to have a name again. 

After all, his title can get him in trouble. 

The Speaker feels the very moment the assault begins. The almost-forgotten sound of Cabal blasters echoes through Tower North and the Speaker moves for a gun. In actions long unpracticed, he fumbles a little bit. Still, like all Guardians, he was born to fight, poor at it as he is. 

Civilians around him are surprised to see him taking up arms, but he can still do nothing to protect them. He's not enough. 

It’s a stark reminder as to why he became the Speaker in the first place. He could never stand the bloodshed. 

The Cabal search for him. He can sense they want him, even if he doesn’t understand why. They take hostages, growling and bellowing to each other. A Cabal soldier, or perhaps a leader, in red garb steps forwards. He isn’t wearing a helmet, which means he believes he isn’t in any danger. It’s a kind of confidence that makes the Speaker wary. 

“Come out, Speaker, or we will kill these begging mongrels in your place.” 

It’s not even a question. He’ll sacrifice whatever it takes, and yet these people don’t even know his name. Will he be remembered as just another Speaker in a long line whose names have been wiped from the record? Just another Guardian who sacrificed themselves for the Traveler?

He walks out into the open, dropping his weapon and lifting his hands above his head. “Wait! Stop!” 

When they have him, they shoot the hostages anyway. The Speaker cringes, spreading his arms as he unleashes his unpracticed Void super. It doesn’t last. Something _tears_ into his side and he drops to the ground with a groan. His Ghost – his foolish, foolish and compassionate Ghost – appears to heal him. 

Maybe that’s another reason why he could never have been a true Guardian. His Ghost is far too attached to even let him die. 

She heals him, but she pays the price soon after. A burst of Light flees her shell as the Cabal warrior in red shoots her. The Speaker screams for her, clutching a hand to his chest as the warmth leaves him. 

With what used to be their home now up in flames, the Cabal take him. 

He struggles, fighting them at every step because, clearly, they have instructions not to kill him. He isn’t sure for who, but they’re keeping him alive for someone. 

When he manages to wrench himself from their grip, he makes a break for it. A Legionary swipes at him with its sword, carving a bloody swipe up the side of his back. In shock from the loss of his Ghost and in agony because of the pain, they carry him off without so much as a fight. 

He supposes he should feel ashamed. 

Even as one of the Traveler’s chosen, he was useless in the fight to protect their home. It burns at him a little, but not as much as it might have if he were a fighter. He isn’t like Ikora was in her younger days. He possesses no taste for battle like Shaxx or Saladin. 

The Cabal take him to the command ship, leaving him alone with the red-armored warrior. He’s pushed forwards and he falls, crawling to his knees. The wound up his back smarts, but he doesn’t have time to worry about it as he’s kicked across the floor. The Speaker relaxes in an attempt to lessen the impact with the ground, but it does little. 

He hisses sharply when he tries to rise. Something is broken. 

“That’s enough.” 

The red beast pauses, shifting to look at the place where the voice came from. The Speaker makes it to his knees, keeping his arms close to his sides. He doesn’t think his ribs will take another strike without breaking. 

An enormous Cabal warrior approaches him, his steps confident in a way that makes the Speaker think this was more than just a fluke. He grabs hold of his torn robe, dragging him towards the wide window of the viewing deck and dropping him back on his knees. What he sees there makes him freeze on the spot, the Traveler caged and ships falling from the sky. The Last City is on fire, bogged down by Legion ships. 

“By the Traveler. What have you done?” 

“I have taken your Light. Your army of Guardians is falling and your people flee. There is no refuge to which you can go.” He pins the Speaker against the glass as he struggles to his feet. “And you.... You are going to tell me all about your Traveler.” 

“Like hell.” he spits. 

The warrior in white hits him over the head, sending him down like a ton of bricks. He isn’t quite sure what happens while he’s out, but when he comes around, he’s hanging from the ceiling in some strange contraption. It’s... oddly human-sized. This was a carefully planned incursion, especially for the Cabal. 

“Comfortable?” 

He stiffens, glancing down and finding the white warrior sitting in a large chair below him. “No.” In fact, due to his wounds, he’s actually in quite a bit of pain. 

“Good.” 

“So, Speaker. Explain your... entity to me.” 

Feeling more than a little sour, he makes sure to put his answer in a confusing way. While it’s the truth, it’s not something the Cabal are meant to understand. It’s a power they will never be worthy of having, this warrior most of all because of his jealousy. Suffice it to say, he does not take the news that the Light can’t be taken very well. 

Every time he refuses to explain something, he’s reminded of his helpless position. Every cut, bruise and burn is meant to make it easy to remember he’s out of the reach of salvation. 

He’s not concerned about that. The part that bothers him is that no one cares about the man under the mask. They care about the important figure he represents. They’ll come for the Speaker, but who he really is doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s a selfish thing to think right now, but maybe that’s why he’s here. He gave up his identity so much so that even their enemies forget he’s not some mystical figure. He’s just a Guardian, less without his Ghost – scared, human, _alone_. 

Maybe it’s because he’s alone that his long-suffering bitterness is cropping up. It’s not like he has anything better to do. 

The siege goes on for days. The Speaker is exhausted, but clearly the battle isn’t over. If it was, the Cabal warrior he’s come to know as Ghaul would have stopped ordering out platoons of his soldiers. They give the Speaker enough to keep him alive. All things considered, it’s a small blessing. 

Honestly, it’s a surprise they even have something to feed him. Though, after the sixth day, he realizes they have no idea what humans really eat and they’ve just been giving him a sort of paste with nutrients. Funnily enough, the Consul has to ask him what he’d rather eat when he refuses said paste and it’s a bit like watching Cayde order takeout. It takes them all day to figure out how to get what he wants. 

Icarus gets a brief and vindictive sort of entertainment when the guards try his French fries. He’ll do PB&J or something tomorrow. 

Ghaul puts a stop to it as soon as he realizes what’s going on and the Speaker is deprived of his fun. Of course, Ghaul’s return leads to another interrogation. It’s a bit of an eyeroll on the Speaker’s end, but hey, he’s bored, so he’ll roll with it. He’d be wrong if he said he didn’t feel a spark of amusement at Ghaul’s blindness. 

He loses track of the days after a while, but Ghaul is sure to remind him whenever he gets too spacey. Honestly, the worst part, aside from torture of course, is the boredom. His arms actually went numb and he gets a little buzz out of moving his fingers around. 

The Consul is tiring of him. The Speaker would guess that he’s the one in charge of security which is why he hates him so much. It’s plausible and increasingly hilarious to think about. Ghaul is pretty much doing whatever he sees fit while the Cabal warrior in red whines about him wasting time with the Speaker. 

Said prisoner may or may not be drawing out Ghaul’s investigations on purpose. 

Finally, finally Ghaul starts asking the right questions as his reign appears to be falling down around his head. He asks what it takes to become a Guardian. Unfortunately for him, Icarus is too agitated to give a damn. It’s a stroke of genius on the Traveler’s part for making the only true path to being a Guardian death. 

“Devotion inspires bravery. Bravery inspires sacrfice, and sacrifice... leads to death. So, feel free to kill yourself.” 

Achy and tired, he can’t bring himself to be concerned when Ghaul puts his meaty hand around his throat. If he didn’t want what the Guardians had so badly, he might have believed the threat. 

Icarus shoots Ghaul a wry smile under his mask, one he’s sure the beast can sense. 

Unsurprisingly, the Consul tries to kill him. He releases the Speaker from his bonds and he topples forwards. Weak and unable to rise, he lies there in pain. Another body drops next to his soon after and Ghaul’s familiar footsteps leave the room. 

Now that he’s free, the only thing running through his mind is escape. He drags himself into a sitting position, staring at the broken face plate of his mask. For the first time in a long time, his face is on display for more than just himself. He swallows, lifting a heavy hand to the catch of his helmet. It doesn’t want to move, but he’s determined. It comes loose with a creak. 

When he tries to rise, black spots fill his vision and the world starts to spin. Icarus crashes in a heap, mere inches from where he started. While he’d love to walk out under his own power, he doesn’t see it happening. He’s already waited this long for a rescue, what’s a bit longer? 

In the spirit of that notion, he flops over to take a nap. 

It takes _hours_. He’s patient, sure, but after this long? Patience isn’t something he has time for. 

The footsteps are almost impossible to make out, soft and quiet. It’s a Hunter, so he can’t help but wonder which one. In a sudden twitch of self-consciousness, he almost reaches for his helmet. 

“Ike?” 

A breath of relief leaves him. It’s Cayde. “I’m fine. I’m fine, just resting.” 

Cayde saw his face a long, long time ago. Curious a Hunter as he is, he supposed at the time that he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d been spying on him for quite some time already without his knowledge because he was more than a little paranoid about the whole nameless/faceless vibe the Speaker gave off. 

Cayde crouches next to him. “Oh, Traveler. What the hell did they do to you, buddy?” 

Icarus sighs heavily. “Took me to a slumber party.” 

“Somehow, I kinda doubt that.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Can you move?” 

He shifts around a little bit, leaning on Cayde’s arm more than he’d like to sit up. “Sorta.” His head lolls back against the Exo’s shoulder, Cayde making a concerned noise. 

“Where’s your Ghost?” 

Icarus shakes his head back and forth, biting his lip to keep from breaking down. 

“Come on, buddy. Talk to me. I’ve gotta check you over.” 

“She’s gone, Cayde. She -” He chokes out a sob. “She wouldn’t let me die, so she’s _gone. It’s all my fault._ I-if…. If I hadn’t been so stupid, she’d still be alive. _”_

Cayde hushes him, far gentler than he expected. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. “It’s not your fault. She made her choice.” 

“I c-can't. I can’t do it anymore, Cayde. I can’t do it.” 

“You’re okay, just hold on.” 

Icarus lifts a weak hand, making a helpless gesture. “I c-can't do it, Cayde. I can’t. _I can’t be the Speaker anymore.”_

“No one said you needed a Ghost to be the Speaker.” 

Icarus lashes out, grabbing the Speaker mask with a sudden burst of strength and hurling it away. It looks stupid and uncoordinated from his perspective, and judging the mere feet the mask travels only serves to make him more frustrated. His numb fingers tingle. “I don’t want to be the Speaker!” 

Cayde is quiet for a few moments. “Why?” 

“My Ghost died for me. _Me_ , Cayde. She didn’t die for ‘The Speaker’ or for some mysterious figure no one can ever know. She did it for me! H-how can I just ignore her sacrifice by putting that thing back on?” He sucks in a panicky breath. “I can’t. _I can’t, I can’t and I’m sorry.”_

The Exo considers for a long time, hushing him again as he starts to shake. “I’m not going to make you.” 

“I-I have a duty to the Traveler a-and I... and I’m throwing it away. I’m throwing it away and betraying e-everything I’m supposed to stand for.” He looks down at the floor, closing his eyes. “Or, I would be... I would be throwing it if I could feel my arms.” 

Cayde rubs his arms, trying to help him work some feeling back into them. “Buddy, I know that you think you have a responsibility, but I think you’re forgetting we can find a new Speaker. You don’t think I know what it’s like to feel trapped by duty?” 

“I know that you do.” Icarus answers, squeezing his eyes shut tighter. 

“I ever get this kind of chance, I’m taking it. No one knows your face but me, and.... Well, if you want, I’d be up to helping you fake your death.” 

“Yes.” 

He feels a little guilty for how quickly he answered, but he can’t help it. He wants out, and Cayde is offering him a quick and easy path. Nothing in their lives is quick and easy, but this could be. 

“Then we’d best get going. Zavala and Ikora said they were coming in after me if I wasn’t back in an hour, and I’ve been gone for, uh...” He tips his head a little. “forty-one minutes.” 

Icarus tries not to take it as a blow to his dignity when Cayde hefts him over his shoulders. He hasn’t been carried since... well, ever, if he’s being honest. Despite the regret he feels for leaving his responsibility to someone else, the weight on his heart is lighter. His head.... Huh. And opening his eyes is somewhat of an experience.

“Cayde.” 

The Exo adjusts him, checking his corners with his gun hand. “Yeah, buddy? What’s up?” 

“Brain is floaty.” 

Cayde chuckles. “It’s okay. Just a bit further and we’ll be at the ship.” 

Icarus tries to shake himself as the world sways. “Lookit, Cayde. Lookit the floaty lights.” He pats Cayde’s side. “The little lights a-are spinning.” He takes a breath. “Ughnn. Nose is stuffy.” 

The Hunter makes another more concerned noise, putting him down against the wall. “Okay, looks like upside-down is not an option. Blood’s all going to your brain.” 

Icarus pokes Cayde’s forehead. “Robot. Do you have a brain?” 

“Not a robot and yes I have a brain. Come on, pal. Up you go.” Cayde holds most of his weight, waiting for Icarus to pull his feet under himself. “Walk. It’ll help you feel better. Take this, and don’t shoot me with it.” 

Icarus frowns as Cayde hands him a sidearm, but as he walks, he becomes alert enough to use it. It feels nice to walk. Of course, his legs are almost working against him due to disuse, but that’s okay. Cayde gets him out and into his ship with a few minutes to spare. They return to the Tower after Cayde declares him dead, but he still has to go to a debriefing with the Guardian that saved them all. With Cayde gone and his head a little clearer now, he has a bit of time to consider what Cayde is offering him. His new life is going to start any minute. 

As he considers all the Guardians who have fallen and will likely otherwise go unnamed, their Ghosts with them, he knows just what he’s going to do with it. 


End file.
